


So, Are We?

by MiniOranges



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Arguing, Established Relationship, Fights, M/M, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27798976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniOranges/pseuds/MiniOranges
Summary: Angry T'Challa + Asshole Erik
Relationships: Erik Killmonger/T'Challa
Comments: 19
Kudos: 54





	So, Are We?

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored. I was restless. I was stressed. Currently anxious. So I made this. Self-indulgent. What is life. I love T'Challa.

"I don’t see why you still mad."

T'Challa breathes. It’s all he can do to retain every last bit of composure he still had at the moment. It’s impressive actually, the way it persists even after that exhausting flight back home.

But what had T'Challa been expecting really? He knew all too well marrying the chaos that is Erik 'Killmonger' Stevens comes with obligatory suspense. He doesn’t even get why it continues to shock him to this day.

Halting his rapid steps, T’Challa turns, missing the usual grace by a mile.

"I am not going to explain myself further. You could have seriously injured yourself N'Jadaka. I told you during the mission’s briefing to only attack _after my deliberate command_. Now the assassin seemed as though he was highly trained, if not for my intervention, I doubt you’d have even an ounce of that smug smile right now."

He says in one breath, the annoyance and frustration bursting out of him like Warrior Falls in its freest.

Erik, unafraid of any possibility getting decked, or worse, sentenced to sleep on the couch later tonight, can only raise his eyebrows in mild fascination. Delighted at his husband breaking character.

"Nothing the heart-shaped herb can’t fix, right?"

The angry groan T’Challa gives back before gyrating away and walking faster again, satiated him enough.

And if it wasn’t for the Dora Milaje snickering quietly beside them, Erik wouldn’t have been reassured all too well. Riling-up the normally tranquil T'Challa was excessively fun.

Catching up to the other man, Erik swiftly wraps his arm around broad shoulders, nudgingthe king gently.

"Come on, T. You can’t be mad at me forever can you?"

"Do not touch me." Says T'Challa with an irritated side-glance and a little wriggle.

"Huh, you weren’t saying that last night when—"

"We’ve reached the lab. Please, take off the necklace so Shuri can perform the necessary adjustments on the damage, which may I add, _was your doing_."

"Lil' sis won’t mind. Y’all just love me that much."

"What’s going on this time?" The girl in question emerges from one corner.

"T'Cha—"

"Shuri, please do as you must to mend the suit of its mortal inconsistencies. It seems the protection could only do so much to the _irresponsibilities_ of the person wearing it." T'Challa glances scathingly at Erik.

"Really? That your best roast?" Erik retorts with the same shit-eating grin.

It irks T’Challa beyond comprehension, but only serves to excite Erik even more.

"I don’t have time for any more of this nonsense."

"You’re really hot when you’re mad."

"I’m going to bed."

"What, without me?"

The older man exits with a raised hand, not bothering to look back.

By then, Erik’s smile went temporarily interrupted with a smack to the head.

"Ow! Forgot you were still here."

"You are stressing him out, you brute! And he’s already burdened enough." Shuri scolds.

"Oh I’ll take care of it, watch me." Erik winks, walking backwards out of the lab as well.

"Ew, TMI."

* * *

He finds T'Challa by the hallways near their bedroom, about to go in.

The king turns to him upon a glimpse in his peripheral, choosing to roll his eyes in lieu of a greeting. T'Challa is so damn cute.

"Don’t talk to me."

"I didn’t say anything!"

"Again, I am going to bed."

"You're _still_ mad, baby? I said I was sorry."

T'Challa perks. "Sorry? This has been at least the fourth time you refused to listen, N'Jadaka."

"Fine, I got carried away because that motherfucker got too close to you. I was acting on instinct!"

"This is between life and death, _Erik_. I don’t see how you're still missing the point, coordination is key!"

"Not when they’re touching my baby, it don't"

"If you must know, those don’t work on me anymore." T'Challa implies, finally entering the room; quite tired and completely ready to engulf the sheets.

"So you’re saying, they did work?" Follows Erik. The tone was mischievous, as always.

T’Challa blinks.

Erik squints.

"I’m saying that you’re sleeping on the couch."

_Fuck._

"Oh, hell nah. That shit too much!"

The other man snaps his head towards him immediately, utterly vexed. "Too much? _I’m_ too much in this scenario?"

"When I’m mad I don’t let your ass sleep on the couch!"

"You’re deviating from the problem." T'Challa steps closer, fury evident in his brown, pretty eyes.

Erik avoids pointing that out.

"And what’re you gonna do about it, _my king_?" He tries instead.

"I already told you those don’t work on me."

"Oh yeah?"

"Don’t you dare insinuate anything, _Erik_."

They were almost nose-to-nose by now, and the tension was as high as the room’s temperature. That could really only mean two things.

Unsurprisingly, Erik goes for the latter.

"Are we about to kiss?"

The crease between T'Challa’s brows flatten and disappear. All that remained was confusion, interspersed with a little bit of poorly-hidden rouse.

Yeah, Erik’s charm still works. Hehe.

* * *

That night, with the headboard banging against the wall, and the sound of rapidly slapping skin on skin, the Dora Milaje standing guard outside the kings’ bedroom exchange glances of exasperation. And maybe a bit of understanding.

**Author's Note:**

> I just love T'Challa so much.


End file.
